I’ve never been good at break ups. No matter how bad things get, I’ve always had trouble letting go. Ironically, (for someone who can be a glass half empty kind of a girl) I’m blinded by the good stuff and end up flying back towards the light like a bedazzled moth, aiming for the moon, but inevitably getting burnt by a substandard 60-watt incandescent bulb.
In case you’re wondering – no, I’m not leaving my husband – and yes, we are still talking about teaching.
It’s a few weeks now since my job as a full time class teacher came to an abrupt end, and I’ve been feeling so much better, I really have. After struggling for the past year with depression and anxiety, it’s been such a blessing to have some time and space to piece myself back together again. And whilst I was feeling nervous about stepping back into the classroom this week, I was also feeling optimistic.
There are loads of obvious benefits to supply teaching: the workload is more manageable; you can pick and choose when you work; you don’t have to get involved in the politics. I thought it would be a chance to get back to basics and enjoy teaching again. And for many teachers, it can be just that.
But after just 2 days fluttering my well-rested teacher wings in the classroom, I flew headfirst into the artificial light, and the ensuing impact left me as stunned as a credulous winged critter, zapped by a high voltage trap: the chest pains returned for the first time in over a month; the strange tingling in my head, which I sometimes worry could actually be a mini-stroke (granted, I do have a tendency to misdiagnose these things) came back with a vengeance and the week ended, like so many others, with tears in the bathroom. And now as I sit here at 4 O’clock in the morning, (yes, the insomnia is back too) contemplating the week ahead, the light is looking less appealing.
I guess it’s called work-induced depression for a reason. It’s one thing to feel better when you’re relaxing at home, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re ready to jump straight back in at the deep end.
You might think two days is a poor effort – and maybe you’re right. The average moth would probably have more stamina. But I’ve been fighting this battle for long enough already. It’s hard to let go of something that you’ve worked so hard for, but maybe sometimes the brave choice isn’t to keep trying, but to know when to walk away; when to say enough is enough. And I think I’m finally there.
I’m not a moth, so why keep flying into the artificial light, when I know the moon has been right there in the sky the whole time? It’s time to take flight and plot a new course. These frazzled wings are heading for clearer skies.
Thank you for reading my post. I welcome all feedback and would love to hear your views. You can also visit my Facebook page @whattheteacherdidnext.
What the Teacher Did Next 